


DX02 // red_kiss

by RememberPanchaea



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: BDSM, Consensual, M/M, Masochism, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 05:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20148193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RememberPanchaea/pseuds/RememberPanchaea
Summary: Iiiiiiii haven't really written much GUD SHIT, you know? /vaclav voiceYeah, I thought it would be real hot if Vaclav and Adam set up a thing where Adam tried out being dominant for Vac during a painplay + bdsm session.sometimes im a little bit lewd, fam. it cant ALL be angst!





	DX02 // red_kiss

On his back, on his table, they'd agreed to their terms, with racing hearts and eager lips.  
  
Because the thrill of this, of closeness, is more than they can pass up.  
  
His steps are heavy, falling with the weight of a man who's walked with purpose his whole life. The heavy thump and rattle of boot soles against the ground and items yet to be discarded follows him thick like a haze. Oil black fingers dip and he thumbs the latch, pulling the belt from the loops in a motion wholly exagerated. It falls free across the opposite glossy palm.  
  
A motion of the hands,  
  
doubled back on itself,  
  
snapped once for good measure with the _**clap**_ of leather.  
  
The glint of ballistics lenses offer nothing from his eyes, hips settling between the doctor's thighs. Sleek fingers clutch at the outer of one, and he eases a palm up the belly of his cock. His fingers closing around the head. There's tension then, and Václav knows he could _**crush**_ him at any moment, if he so chose. Yet, he knows Adam would never do that. A heat behind his pants, where it rests against his pert cheeks, sparking a fire that spreads, consuming and heavy. His hand hovers the belt over his thigh, before resting it on the varnished wood beside Václav's head. God leans down, he breathes quietly, passively as the beat of his _**synthetic**_ heart.  
  
And his hand moves to snag the man under his jaw, grip firm, commanding, bidding him to peer up at a face that offers him every promise.  
  
"Tell me... why you deserve my touch?" The low gravel pours out, like magma pushing from a volcanic vent, ash-blackened soil splitting beneath the heat of his passion.  
  
Stammering, breath quickening, Václav realizes words are always harder under pressure, under the hammering of his frantic heart in his throat.  
  
He feels weak in a way he craves for once.  
He feels fragile beneath the form of a  
  
marvel of modern science.  
man he's watched in awe.  
soldier who's never truly fallen...  
  
Anarchy fingers painted in society's rejections seal against his wrist, and he closes his eyes. Sinking, breathing, being, drowning in the sensation of being so devoted to his touch. "I would," he breathes, and Václav's voice is filled with a tremor, anticipating what he's craved all this time. "Do anything, to feel you..."  
  
A beat of silence,  
  
the hammer of pulses.  
  
"Please," he implores his filigreed king. Plated in gold and hope and carved out swaths of mechanical muscle, Adam feels his thighs clutch needily against his hips, and he almost  
  
purrs  
  
out his satisfaction. A low heat, simmering deep, and excitement flares in a tired mind.  
  
His fingers shift, an oil spill spreading across the sand. Creeping, seeping, slipping wet and thick across porcelain skin. Fragile, but weren't they all compared to him? Adam tips his head, until eyes met his own, and the lenses pull back. The inhuman glow of tarnished gold and verdant green stares down, his gaze hardened around the corners... all for show. But look there, closer, and the crinkle of amusement shows at the corners of his eyes.  
  
"That's right," the colossus rumbles, and air bends to his will.  
  
"You'll do whatever I say," Icarus bids the sea.  
  
His hips shift, settling closer, the tent of trapped urgency tucked against Václav's cheeks, heat pouring off him. The hand draws down, until he's clutching his frail throat in his hand. Adam tips his head back and the sound of scraping knuckles _**drags**_ along the table's surface.  
  
The metal buckle rings out its merry threats, voice so pleased for the chance, and Adam watches as eyes widen, and thrill darts acrss the doctor's face. The sharp inhale, of anticipation stealing his breath away, accompanies the way his stomach tenses. The agent eases off his throat, down his chest, until the splay of fingers holds him down by the stomach. His hand's brother is gone from sight.  
  
Not for long.  
  
Lifting, a flash of black, painting a shadow across the lights, it lowers in an _**impact**_ of a strike, to paint a stripe of raw red across Václav's inner thigh. Still, he presses down, against the needy buck, the arch, the ... delicate curve of his pretty spine. Oh, but that's too beautiful, too satisfying, Adam thinks to himself, and his hand drags down, over the rise of hip and he clutches there.  
  
Václav's voice is caught in his throat, desperate and fluttering as it culminates in a drawn out, breathless sound. When it returns to him once more, he exhales  
  
and pleads, "More?"  
  
There's a tip of Adam's head, the motion of his tongue over his lips, a flash of the glint in manufactured eyes, ever present as it came  
  
_**DOWN**_  
  
again, to see him arch, to hear the moan pour from parted, longing lips as the kiss of red bloomed across fair skin.  
  
"So sing for me," the machine god commands.  
  
And awash in a sea of bliss, the doctor feels his mind flee, body rising to meet the touch of hands  
  
who bid he dance just so.


End file.
